Those whose attention was not already riveted to center stage by Michael's words soon were as two Secret Service agents restrained Collinsworth and then escorted him from the stage, the indignity of handcuffs omitted. Peri nodded to Mike and he continued.
"Not in the usual sense of the word, but a fraud just the same. I apologize for my theatrics just now but I felt it was necessary. Without going into details as to the hows and whys, which my dear friend, Pericletus Ageton, of Coveport has agreed to do this evening, my halo has a logical scientific cause. I've only just become aware of this myself recently, so I hope that if I must run a gauntlet, your blows will be less severe. I ask that any questions you may have be held until this evening. The Mayor has generously offered Gracie Mansion for the site of the press conference this evening and I hope to see each of you there. Thank you and goodbye."
Mike darted behind the stage curtain as perspiration covered his body.
*****
It took less than twenty minutes for the loft to empty and a single chauffeur waited outside for Peri, Michael and Cheryl. They walked across the stage toward the stairway and as they reached the wing, Mike hesitated. Suddenly, his body began to rise slowly into the air. Cheryl turned around as Mike shouted to her.
"Cher! I'm ascending! I'm ascending!"
Cheryl dropped her head into a deep nod and closed her eyes. Looking back up she shook her head in disbelief.
"Mike, your jacket's caught on a stage hook."
"Just kiddin', Cher, just kiddin'." Mike stood straight-faced as he landed back on the floor and Peri stepped from behind the curtain bellowing with laughter.
"I thought you'd like that one." Mike put his arm around her and the three left the building, laughing as one.
*****
Later that same evening, the press crucified Michael at Gracie Mansion.
EPILOG
AN ESCAPE FROM THE MADNESS OF ANGELS
Every man is a divinity in disguise, a god playing the fool.
It seems as if heaven had sent its insane angels into
our world as to an asylum, and here they will break out
in their native music and utter at intervals the words
they have heard in heaven; then the mad fit returns and
they mope and wallow like dogs.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Cheryl swung the cabin door open, struggling with two bags of groceries as Mike dropped his paperback novel and bolted from his seat on the couch.
"Let me give you a hand with those."
"No, that's okay, I got 'em."
"Anything else in the car?"
"Nope, I got everything."
"Sorry. I didn't even hear you pull up. Either we got a really quiet car or I got a great book on my hands here. I think we have a quiet car though."
"Will a stir-fry be all right?"
"A stir-fry sounds great. Were you able to find any papers?"
"Yep, not only did I get you The Sentinel, a local sheet, but the New York Post and The Washington Times. For being out in the boondocks of Vermont, the town’s got a pretty fair selection of everything."
"Hey, hey, hey The Washington Times! We're really livin' up here, kiddo. I thought we were leaving civilization, I didn't think the folks up here even heard of DC"
"They were friendly in town, a little wary of strangers, but polite."
Michael raised his voice as Cheryl skirted behind a partition into the kitchen. "Ray Packwell called while you were out."
"How's he doing?"
"Great, he's thinking of going back to school next semester, political science. Guess he's gonna follow in his father's footsteps."
"That's great, he's a nice guy."
"Yep."
Mike unfolded the newspapers and laid them in a stack on the crude, unfinished slab of wood that served as a coffee table, with the Times on top. He glanced the headlines, then flipped it over when his eyes caught an item at the bottom of the page.
UPI — Skepticism abounds, due to the recent revelation James Michael Flagg's halo was caused by a homemade shampoo, but with skepticism, so too comes believers. A New York man, Gregor Betrug, who claims to be able to change water into wine, has gained at least one convert. Marcel Le Sotte, a noted French oenologist, was quoted as saying, “a hint of vanilla lingers from this finely structured delight. A soft bouquet, somewhat tart but not overpowering. I'm interested in sampling his Montrachet."
Mike removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and leaned back on the couch. "Breathe blue," he whispered, "he'll need it."
I am God in nature; I am a weed by the wall.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Circles (1841)
###
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